by Bethany-Kris
Really?
Gracen let out a stressed laugh as she pulled open the door. “Get real. Neither of us need to be kissing anything until we’ve had a shower. I’ve got no time to get ready as it is, and I’m already late, so—”
“I’m calling you later,” he called at her back as she walked out of the apartment. “You want a coffee, or something? I could bring it once I get around here.”
They were definitely doing this together again. His offer said so, no questions asked.
Jesus.
Why’d she shiver?
From head to toe, too.
Damn him.
“You better,” she returned before slamming the door closed.
*
“Are you seriously not going to tell me where you ended up last night? I almost called to report you missing!” Delaney hissed across the salon’s floor.
Squeezing the backrest of the swivel cutting chair at her station for all it was worth, Gracen wished she had taken just five extra minutes to grab something to shove in her face for food. Even if it had only been plain toast and a glass of milk. Anything to put a bit of weight in her terribly empty stomach that was still running on the night before. She never had problems with being faint or feeling nausea unless hunger came into play.
Then, her whole body revolted.
As if her day was trying to prove it could get worse, she was also out of the gum she kept in a drawer at work just to give her something to chew on.
Gracen should have gone home, and stayed the hell in bed.
“I will—” she tried to tell her friend.
Not that Delaney was hearing it.
“You’ve basically ignored me since you walked in the door!” Delaney returned. “Even after I told you the manor called because you didn’t return their message over the weekend, too!”
Slightly louder than before.
Gracen really needed to get in to visit her grandmother at the nursing home in the upper river valley before Mimi drove the staff crazy while they looked after her daily care. Just a few days of no contact with her gram could send Mimi into a panic about her granddaughter’s well-being.
“Everything okay down there?” came the gentle prod—or reminder, depending on how Delaney would see it—from the woman upstairs currently doing a constellation piercing on a client.
“Perfect,” Gracen called back.
All lies.
She didn’t even look great in the reflection of her station’s mirror which showcased how little time she spent on throwing up her hair into a ponytail that air-dried. She spent most of her twenty minutes at the house throwing on an acceptable outfit after taking a five-minute shower that felt like it only scrubbed the surface clean.
Gracen wanted a soak in the bath.
Why did her feet hurt?
Her back, too?
“Stupid couch,” she muttered.
“What couch?” Delaney questioned at Gracen’s back.
Apparently, she hadn’t said that quietly.
“I met up with a friend,” Gracen lied—sort of—easily, “and ended up staying the night. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back, I must have put my phone in silent mode when I was trying to set an extra alarm but I drank a—”
“You drank last night?”
Gracen swung around at the worry that pitched her friend’s voice slightly higher. Delaney stood halfway between her station and Gracen’s with her fists pressed to her hips like a worried mother ready to face a battle with her unruly teenager.
That was not happening.
“It wasn’t even that much,” Gracen said, rolling her eyes. “But I didn’t want to stumble home, wake you up when I figured you were already asleep, and then—”
“I wasn’t asleep. I was up until twelve when I first texted you.”
Yes.
By that time, Gracen was on the couch.
Getting off again with Malachi.
“Wait, a guy? Was the friend a guy?” Delaney asked out of the blue.
Christ.
Was it written on Gracen’s face?
I got fucked?
Her silence answered Delaney’s question who laughed in disbelief and stared at Gracen like she was suddenly seeing a whole new person standing in front of her.
“Who?” her friend asked.
Gracen let out a huff. “What does that even mat—”
“I mean, we’ve lived together since we graduated high school, you’ve only dated one guy, and the last one-night stand you had was so awkward you snuck out when he went to the bath—”
“Okay, okay,” Gracen cut in, waving a hand through the air to shut Delaney up. “We don’t need to make a whole list out of my sex life.”
“What list?” Delaney arched a brow. “Did the second guy even get it in?”
No.
But the one last night sure as hell did.
Gracen met Delaney’s stare, wanting her friend to just drop the conversation until it was a better time. “Listen, we don’t tell each other everything all of the time. I had a fun night, it might happen again, and I will fill you in if I need to. There’s nothing else to tell.”
Delaney blinked.
Twice.
“Are you?”
“What?” Gracen asked.
“Being safe?”
“Delaney, come on.”
“You weren’t home last night, and you won’t even tell me who you were with or where you are, but now I should believe you if you say, or won’t, that you’re safe? I don’t know,” Delaney muttered, turning away to return to her station.
Gracen hated how Delaney did that sometimes. Shut out her side of the conversation by walking away when clearly the two weren’t done.
“Malachi,” Gracen said before she could stop herself. “His name is Malachi; we’re not dating, so no, I’m not telling you more. I was thirty seconds away across the street all night in the apartment behind Checkered’s, Delaney. It’s not a big freaking deal.”
Delaney froze on her trek to the station across from Gracen’s, and then spun around on the spot to face her friend. “Excuse me?”
“Malachi Anders. He’s not been in town long. I met him up at the coffee shop last week. He’s—”
“Alora Beau’s older brother?”
Gracen had not heard Delaney properly.
Surely.
“Doesn’t she only have sisters?”
Sisters that were younger than her. Sisters Gracen had seen in pictures posted in the town’s local newspaper whenever the family had a piece included that focused on them. Sisters that were certainly not an older brother Gracen spent the night with.
Please, no.
“Alora’s mother only had girls with Frankie Beau,” Delaney confirmed, “but she had Alora and Malachi way before she met and married him. He only adopted Alora after they got married, though. I’ve never even met her brother,” her friend finished with a shrug. “He’s like twenty-seven, or something. I think he as quite a bit older than her when their mom married their stepdad. I think I heard someone say he’s not really family value friendly with the church, if you know what I mean.”
Yeah.
Sounded just like Malachi to Gracen.
Did that change things?
Gracen didn’t have time to think about it before the bell over the door chimed to say the appointment she had rushed to catch after waking up late finally arrived. Fifteen minutes after her appointment for a standard wash, cut, and set.
“Sorry, did you get my text?” the social worker asked as the salon’s front door swung closed behind her.
“I did,” Gracen assured.
Callie Smith smiled apologetically as she shed her bag on the one of the chairs next to the windows and pulled her long black hair out of the tight bun at the nape of her neck. “I just need something easy—wake up, wash, and go. It doesn’t have to be fancy.”
“We’re talking more about ...” Delaney wagged a finger at Gracen, adding, “You know what—later!”
She ignored her friend.
Or tried.
“Have you thought about something short?” Gracen asked her client when Callie finally found her way into the stylist’s chair.
“I just don’t have time,” the woman muttered. “I’m looking at a seventy-file caseload—when the max is supposed to be twelve—and I need to worry less about what my hair is doing in the morning.”
Damn.
“Seventy files, really?” Gracen asked.
That meant seventy kids, high-risk or at cause for concern, for social services to keep a file on. At the very least because a complaint had been made. The worst cases ... well, Gracen didn’t want to even think about that. In their small, rural counties? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.
Callie only shook her head, her sad, tired gaze meeting Gracen’s in the mirror while her stylist prepped the standard black cape. “I swear I spend more time on the road trying to find these kids sometimes than I do actually sitting and talking with them.”
“You know, we see a lot of kids going in and out of here sometimes. Friends of friends,” Gracen explained. “If you’re trying to find someone specific, we might be able to help.”
The social worker nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Gracen moved the conversation back to Callie’s desire for a drastic change in appearance—it was always a big move for a woman to go from long locks to a shorter style. All the while, though, Gracen’s mind was on the parking lot in front of the Haus.
Hadn’t a certain someone promised coffee?
So, where was it?
Chapter 9
Masterson Capital Realty sat down river at the far edge of town, a hanging sign at the road and on the edge of the entrance roof facing the street and parking lot across the way. The three-storey Victorian, painted white with black trim and shutters to match the family’s realty branding, had once been the town’s first hospital. A plaque on a monument rock at the end of the driveway, across from the business’s paved parking lot, explained all the pertinent history and details if guests cared to read.
Malachi did not.
The polished rock worked perfectly as a leaning post for his shoulder while he scrolled through the many contacts in his phone for a not-so-familiar number. He figured Sonny Masterson would rather his uninvited guest not call through to Masterson Capital Realty’s front desk, and instead, prefer his private number. It wasn’t particularly hard to find when the man’s face hung from For Sale signs from the valley all up and down river.
There was a chance Sonny wasn’t at his father’s offices on a Wednesday afternoon. Property showings could be done whenever if a person had the motivation and time. Not to mention, the freedom of working in his family’s very successful business likely allowed Sonny the privilege of making his own schedule for the most part.
However, Malachi liked to plan when dealing with someone he didn’t particularly like. Partly because he refused to be forced to deal with people who weren’t worth his time or spit. Also, because there was a bit of a thrill of being one step ahead of someone when the intention was to catch them off guard.
As he currently intended to do.
Those were the shits for Sonny.
Perhaps a few bucks in the hand of the right kid who spent most of his time riding his BMX bike up and down both sides of the river gave Malachi the information he needed about the best time to catch Sonny Masterson at work. Five minutes with the kid, and a conversation over a slushy drink that started because the preteen liked Malachi’s bike, made it clear there wasn’t much else for the boy to do except ride his bike and people watch.
Lucky for him that the kid knew Sonny—and where he worked. A public place where he wouldn’t be quick to cause himself any issues. Especially when his future brother-in-law—who was not very happy to be his future brother-in-law in the first place—showed up with a few things to say.
“You’re aware the driveway on this side of the road isn’t meant for parking unless it’s someone who needs assistance, right?”
Malachi’s reaction to the pointed question—that could only be meant for him considering his Suzuki was the only thing parked in the rock-graveled driveway of the Victorian home-turned-office building—was to pocket his phone. He pushed off the rock monument as the phone slipped inside his leather jacket, grateful that Sonny had at least saved him the time of a phone call.
“Three-zero-six-two,” Malachi said.
Sonny’s shiny loafers crunched against the gray gravel as he approached, but his stoic expression didn’t change to say he felt any kind of way about Malachi verbalizing his cell number. “What about it?”
“Just checking if it was in fact you.”
“Three-five-six first,” Sonny returned with a tight smile. “Although, the phone company’s got everybody using the area code now too when you dial since there’s more people and—”
“I wish I cared,” Malachi interjected, already bored. “Did you see me from the window of your office, or ...?”
“Mine’s mostly cleaned out since I’m transferring to the Miramichi location in a couple of months. The new officer-holder is keeping the paperwork tidy in the between time, if you know what I mean.”
Not particularly, and Malachi wouldn’t pretend to, either. He couldn’t imagine showing up to work every day wearing tie and slacks with his smiling face hanging from signs at the ends of driveways of homes for sale. Shit, he didn’t even want an office when he worked. Steel-toed boots and labor that made his hands and back ache, though, he could do.
If the man just a few feet away, framed by the quiet entrance of the business behind him, felt put off by Malachi’s attitude, he didn’t show it. Sonny remained unbothered with his hands tucked loosely in the pockets of his pressed black slacks by the rolled-up sleeves of his silk button down dress shirt proved the man was halfway done with his workday.
“Anyway,” Sonny said, his square jaw setting firmer in his conviction when he pointed at the disabled parking sign just beyond the entrance of the driveway. “There’s a sign and whatnot. You’re gonna have to move the bike.”
Malachi glanced at the black machine in question. His helmet waited on the handlebars, the keys remained in the off position in the starter, and it would take him exactly two minutes to move the bike across the street to the proper parking lot before returning to his current task and conversation.
But no.
He shrugged and shoved his fists into the pockets of his jacket with his feet planted firmer into the ground. “I’m not staying long.”
Sonny arched a brow. “Should I believe that?”
“Got any reason not to?”
Malachi hoped the man came up with something.
Who knew what might happen then?
A silence stretched on between the two, only broken by the occasional vehicle passing by on the street on their way out of town. Malachi used those few seconds to size up the guy he hadn’t seen in a handful of years.
Time hadn’t changed much.
Sonny’s tall stature, blond hair, and dark eyes spoke to his great-great-grandfather’s European history. His family, immigrants on his mother’s side, had been one of the first to settle in the area. Something the family enjoyed using and attaching to everything they did when it came to the town.
Malachi had never been the type to appreciate that sort of thing. If anything, he thought it made the Masterson family’s need for recognition and acknowledgement, as if it made them special, sort of stupid. What good did the history do? They were far removed from their early family’s farmer’s life.
“Wasn’t sure you would recognize me, honestly,” Malachi said, deciding he would be the one to break the silence and point out the elephant in the room. Might as well save some time and get this shitshow over with. “It’s been a while.”
Sonny nodded, but he waved off the comment. “Or maybe I’d heard you were in town, huh?”
Had he?
Damn.
> “News travels fast,” Malachi noted.
Sonny released a slow breath, replying, “All I know is what I’m told. Are you still staying at Nader’s place?”
“Did he give you a heads up?”
“Hitchen isn’t a friend,” Sonny returned on the topic of Nader.
And?
That’s not what Malachi asked.
“Looking out, are you?”
Malachi didn’t believe Sonny was keeping tabs on him, but the possibility was still there, and he wanted to clear it up before the two went any further. Especially if it meant that Malachi didn’t really have the leg up on Sonny like he’d previously thought before showing up today.
“Who told you I was back in town?” Malachi asked.
Point black.
He was not fucking around, now.
Sonny remained unmoved, but he had never been the type to back down from a challenge. A lot like every other man that grew up in this godforsaken shithole. As boys there hadn’t been much else to do except play hockey in the winter and fight all the times in between. Something they could also do on the ice. Except they weren’t boys anymore, and nobody in that driveway had on helmets or gloves.
Every punch would hurt.
On the other hand ...
It might be worth it.
“Doesn’t Nader’s mom look after his place when he’s working down in Juniper through the week?” Sonny asked.
“She didn’t see me—”
Sonny lifted his silk-covered shoulders, speaking over Malachi before he could properly shut the idea of his friend’s mother down. “All I’m saying is yesterday, she might have told Alora at church that she thought she saw you leaving Nader’s. What, did you roll into town over the weekend?”
Yesterday?
The weekend?
He almost laughed.
Shit.
Malachi was still a step ahead, it seemed. He’d been in town almost an entire week and a half before word got out, so that wasn’t too bad.
“Am I not allowed to come home?” Malachi asked, smart enough to know he shouldn’t let Sonny in on the fact he’d been in town for longer than everyone else assumed. At least that way, he controlled the narrative.
In their valley, that was priceless.